


Into the Dark

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4x15 spoilers, AU, F/M, Gen, Self Harm, UA, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9905873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: "Fine. But if I die, I'm blaming you."-A 4x15 AU where there's one less LMD than we thought, because the only thing better than a Skimmons teamup is the Bus Kids against the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Canon-compatible depiction of self harm (not with suicidal or self-harm intent).
> 
> Title from I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie

“Pick it up.” 

There was fear in her voice. Fear. Rage. Every ounce of love and softness in her, she had battened down under sharp steel, and yet her eyes were bleeding with it even as she gestured with them to the knife on the bench. 

“And do what?” 

“Slit your wrist. Then I’ll be able to see the wires if you’re an LMD.” 

“Yeah, and if I’m not, you’ve just made me slit my bloody wrist-“ 

Her eyes brooked no sympathy, allowed none of his fear or desperation to breach her walls. She’d been shot through the heart too many times and she was right, of course. This always happened to them. 

Fitz’ heart was racing so fast he was getting dizzy, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. Were they real? If he looked hard enough, would he see a tiny lens adjusting? Would her tears be salt, or rusty? Was he really about to do this? 

He picked up the knife. If he could prove it, _if_ he could, everything would be okay. 

(Except it wouldn’t, because if he could prove it, that meant she couldn’t). 

Either way, he’d have his answer, he supposed. 

He cut in. Carefully at first, but then the blood began to pool and he realised that maybe he hadn’t been careful enough. At first it was actually quite a satisfying feeling. He felt relief: his own blood, proving to himself as well as to her that he wasn’t an LMD, once and for all. 

Then his heart dropped into his stomach. He dropped the knife, and inhaled sharply. 

“Oh _god.”_

“Fitz?” 

Her voice still crooned with concern and she approached him gently. He scrabbled across the floor, trying to get away from her and stem the now copious bleeding from his wrist at the same time. 

“No!” he cried, “get away from me!” 

“Fitz, I can help!” she insisted. “It’s not me, I just want to help!”

“Of course you bloody do! Help end my pain, right? Maybe slit the other wrist, help it go faster?!”

Hysterically, Fitz searched for another weapon. He’d left the knife on the floor, and it was closer to her than it was to him now. She bent down slowly and picked it up, lowering the gun at the same time. Fitz’ head spun. Was he really going to have to fight her? This spitting image of Jemma? Could he do that? And if so – would he ever be able to look at her again? 

-

Daisy covered her mouth in horror, and squeezed her eyes shut. She could hardly bear to look. She was going to be sick. She was going to scream and give herself away. Not them, not him, not her, not _them._

_“Slit your wrist. Then I’ll be able to see the wires if you’re an LMD.”_

_“Yeah, and if I’m not, you’ve just made me slit my bloody wrist-“_  

Fitz cut himself off. For a few seconds there was silence – at least, as far as the video camera was concerned. Daisy’s heart pounded in her throat but she had to look. She had to know. 

She looked back down at the screen and whimpered to herself. Fitz was doubled over, his whole body cringing in fear and agony as his wrist bleed visibly down his arm and onto the floor. Jemma was relentless, though she pursued him slowly. He scrambled around the bench, breathing heavily, looking for something to defend himself with. Jemma still had the gun, and the knife lay on the floor, torturously far from Fitz 

Daisy watched, mesmerised. Traumatised. 

_“No! Get away from me!”_

_“Fitz, I can help! It’s not me, I just want to help!”_

_“Of course you bloody do! Help end my pain, right? Maybe slit the other wrist, help it go fast-“_

Then, suddenly, there was nothing but the sound of her racing heart. The screen turned black in front of her. 

“No no _nononono,”_ she muttered. She tried turning it back on, to no avail. The device was working, it was the security that had been cut. They knew. They must have known she’d tried to get into it. They must have known she wasn’t one of them. They must be coming for her, like they’d come for him. 

Daisy stood up and gathered her wits. She swapped the screen out for Mack’s beloved shotgun-axe. He’d want her to kick killer-robot ass with it, of that she was sure, and happy to oblige. 

But first – Fitz. 

-

“Fitz!” Jemma yelped, as he scrambled around the corner. “Fitz, it’s me, I promise.” 

His eyes bulged, his head spinning. She didn’t run after him, yet she was always approaching, like a Dalek. Slow but deadly. (Unlike a Dalek, still trying to plead for his attention.) Was she coming around the other way? 

“Stop it!” He sniffed, holding his wrist as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Stop saying that. It’s _not_ you.”

“It is!” Jemma insisted. “It is. Look.”

She appeared, with the knife instead of the gun this time, and immediately Fitz grabbed a beaker from the low shelf behind him. What was he planning? To throw it at her? Even he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t get a chance to follow through on anything because Jemma was standing before him, cutting her own wrist. 

“Jemma, what the _hell?!"_

Fitz scrambled to his feet, forgetting for a second that she could reach out and snap his neck at any moment. Swooning a little at the sudden start, he grabbed the bench and stared at Jemma in horror; fear; confusion. She’d done it properly of course, and while there was still a fair amount of blood, it wasn’t cascading out like his had. The sight of it seemed to settle her. 

“There,” she said, holding up the wound for him to see. “No wires, no plates. Just me.” 

His knees shuddered. Jemma rushed to him and this time he didn’t pull away. She clamped one hand over his wrist and held it between them as she threw the other arm around his neck. He smelled like blood and sweat, and his whole body was still shaking. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” she assured him, the steel and stone she’d heaped up to protect herself finally tumbling down as he hugged her back with everything he had and wept into her shoulder. “It’s you and me, right? Together. Just like always.” 

Rapid footsteps in the hall outside reminded her with bone-chilling suddenness that it was not just the two of them after all. She froze, and felt him do the same. 

“I think someone’s coming,” she whispered.

They’d barely made it another step when the door flung open and Daisy burst in, wild-eyed and furious and aiming her shotgun at Jemma. 

“Get away from him.” 

“What?” 

“Daisy it’s- “

“Away. _NOW.”_

“You first!” 

Jemma let go Fitz’ wrist, but not to step away. She braced herself defensively in front of him, and wrapped a fist around the handle of the knife and held it above her head, prepared to go for the arteries in Daisy’s neck if she stepped too close. 

“I don’t understand,” Fitz said, after a moment of being locked in this impasse. “Why haven’t you killed us yet? What do you need us for?” 

“Need you for?” Daisy repeated. “I don’t need you for anything, it’s this one who’s trying to kill you. It’s not Jemma, Fitz, don’t be stupid. Jemma would never ask you to cut your own wrist.” 

“Well I didn’t expect he’d cut the radial artery!” Jemma blurted. “That’s not my –“ 

“Shut up!” Daisy checked that the nose of her gun was still up. “Don’t you speak to him. Fitz, come here.” 

“No! No way.” 

“She’s trying to _trick_ you. Come _here.”_

“She’s not!” Fitz insisted. “Look, her wrist, she’s cut it too, see?” 

Beneath the sharp blade, Jemma held out her wrist. Daisy studied it. 

“Okay. Alright. So the three of us are fine then and we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Awesome.”  
  
She slowly lowered her gun, but Jemma didn’t release her braced position. 

“Come on,” Daisy beckoned, “and grab the pistol too. Fitz needs medical. There’s a safe storeroom downstairs. Let’s _go_ already.” 

“Downstairs?” Fitz repeated, suspicious. 

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Jemma growled. “You could still be one of them _.”_

“Yes, and I’m going to save your lives because I, as an evil killer robot, would _love_ to help keep alive the two people in this building who have the greatest chance at defeating me.” 

It was something, but not quite enough. Jemma lowered the knife from its dagger-ready position, but she held it out to Daisy instead. Daisy glared at it, then at Jemma. 

“You’re joking, right?” 

“It’s the only way to know.” 

“It’s the only way to get AIDS is what it is.” But they didn’t relent. Daisy sighed and wiped the knife as best she could. 

“Fine! But if I die, I’m blaming you. Actually. You wanna do it?” 

“Really?” 

“The real Jemma wouldn’t kill me. I trust you’re real. Whether or not I am, well, there’s apparently only one way to find out, right?” 

Jemma hesitated for a moment, but the trust in Daisy’s eyes was genuine. So genuine it was really going to hurt if wires and plates showed up after all that. But Jemma took the knife back and carefully made a slit, and checked the wound for anything unusual. 

“Clear?” Daisy was looking at the roof, just in case. 

“Clear.” Jemma sighed with relief. 

“Hey, um,” Fitz interjected. “Now that we’ve established that we’re not all trying to kill each other, I’m starting to feel a bit…” 

Both of them rushed to his side. Jemma clenched his wrist again. 

“We’ll wrap that up as soon as we get there, okay? Can you walk?”  
  
Though queasy, Fitz nodded. 

“I’ll be fine,” he assured them. “There’s just – there’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Jemma assured him. “Just a few more minutes. We’re going to keep holding that and Daisy’s going to help us get to the storeroom, okay?”

Fitz nodded again. Daisy grimaced. There really was a _lot_ of blood. He was still standing though, so that was a good sign, and once they got it all wrapped up, both of them would be more free to move around. That was a promising sign for their escape plan – a promising sign they needed, since they were going to have to go deeper into the belly of the beast before they were to have a chance at getting out. 

“Alright, are you ready?” Daisy instructed. “Back door in three – two – one -“

She reached an arm up and quaked the chains holding up the lighting unit. It crashed down, knocking into the cart of IT equipment FitzSimmons had brought in. There was no way the others wouldn’t hear that, no way they wouldn’t come running.

“Go.”


End file.
